


Episode 11: Family Remains

by inkandpaperqwerty



Series: Bright Smiles and Bloody Lips [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Bed-Wetting, Biblical References, Caring Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel (Supernatural) Tries, Castiel is a Hot Mess, Conflicted Sam Winchester, Confused Castiel (Supernatural), Curious Castiel (Supernatural), Demon Blood, Episode: s04e11 Family Remains, Gen, Guilty Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester Tries, John Winchester's Journal, Manipulative Castiel, No Blood, Oops, Or At Least He Did When He Was Alive, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Single Parent Sam Winchester, Stressed Castiel, Stressed Everybody, Stressed Sam, Uncle Dean Winchester, give him time, he's getting there, very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 00:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17254487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandpaperqwerty/pseuds/inkandpaperqwerty
Summary: "Dean expected Sam to find a way to cope after he was dragged to Hell. By no means did he, even for a moment, think Sam might look to parenting as a coping mechanism."Sam and Dean both try to cope with the fact that Liam is in the hands of morally ambiguous angels while Castiel tries to understand the utter enigma of a child he's supposed to be in charge of.





	Episode 11: Family Remains

“What are you doing?”

Liam startled and nearly fell off the stack of books he was using as a stepstool. He clutched the shelf to catch his balance and looked over his shoulder. “Um…” He swallowed, taking a moment to calm his racing heart. “Hi, Castiel.”

Castiel only arched a brow in that displeased and unimpressed way he often did. “It’s almost four in the morning. What are you doing?”

Liam looked back at the bookshelf, chewing on his lip. “Um… I had a question.” He looked at Castiel again, fingers still gripping the shelf.

“Then you ask someone, preferably during the hours you’re supposed to be awake.” Castiel approached Liam, extending a hand to take him by the arm. “Come on, back to bed.”

“No, wait!” Liam leaned into the shelf and held on tight, biting his lip a little harder. “I can’t sleep.”

Castiel dropped his arm with a sigh. “And why exactly is that?”

“Because… the question makes me…” Liam squirmed in place. He knew he wasn’t supposed to know about… _it…_ and he didn’t want to get in trouble for that, but he didn’t want to get in trouble for lying, either.

Castiel _really_ didn’t like lying.

“Because the question makes you…?” Castiel pressed, an impatient expression spreading over his features.

“Um…” Liam glanced back at the books and then put his full attention on Castiel. Being an angel, Castiel would definitely know the answer to Liam’s question, and despite their clashing personalities, Castiel _had_ been harder to set off ever since Liam had needed him for nightmare recovery. “What, um… what’s Hell like?”

Castiel blinked, clearly surprised, but he didn’t look particularly angry, so that was a good sign. “It is a place of eternal torment; a cage of blood and fire and pain.” He squinted. “Why?”

Liam felt his stomach turn, a grimace twisting his mouth as he thought about Dean being in the terrible place Castiel described. “I was just…” maybe it wasn’t a good idea to lie when things were going so well, “…just wondering. That’s all.”

Castiel frowned slightly, but he still didn’t look angry. That had to be a record of some kind, even with the unspoken, post-nightmare truce. “Liam, why is Hell on your mind?” He canted his head to the side. “Do you think you’ve done something to deserve going there?”

Liam shook his head but then stopped. _Maybe. Probably._ But he shook his head again, deciding it wasn’t a good idea to share that tidbit. Especially with an angel.

“Last week,” Liam started, wringing his hands, “when you were gonna smite the town, Dean said you got him out of Hell for a reason… and you said you would go back and get him again if you had to.” Liam grabbed onto the shelf and carefully got down from his stack of books, peering up at Castiel with wondering eyes. “I know I wasn’t supposed to hear, so I didn’t ask about it, but…” He shrugged and stared down at his feet, shuffling in place. “I was thinking about Dean in Hell, and… I couldn’t sleep. I kept… imagining what it was like, and…” And he had come up with some terrifying things.

“That’s not a pleasant thing to imagine.” Castiel put his hand against Liam’s upper back, gently nudging him toward the bed. “I can see why that would keep you awake.”

Liam let Castiel push him across the room, and he obediently crawled into bed and settled down under the covers.

Liam looked up at Castiel with wide eyes, recalling the other pieces of the conversation that had been tumbling around his head for the past hour and a half. “Does that mean Dean was… dead?”

Castiel nodded sharply, adjusting the blankets. “Yes.” He took a step back, keeping his distance as he so often did, and continued to watch Liam with an impassive, unreadable face. “He made a very unwise decision… and it led to his death and imprisonment.” Castiel looked at Liam for a long moment, a puzzled expression on his face, like he was trying to figure out what to say. “But he isn’t there anymore; that’s the important thing to remember.”

Liam shrugged his shoulders and rolled onto his side, picking at the fabric of his pillowcase. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I have work to do. If I leave you here, are you going to behave and stay in bed?”

Liam shrugged again but nodded his head. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Liam wasn’t surprised when Castiel immediately left without bothering to ask if Liam was really alright, but it still hurt. And that hurt was quickly replaced by fear, a weight settling on his chest as the anxiety that had dragged him into wakefulness returned to keep him there.

He tried to take deep breaths, but his mind had locked on to the notion of a panic attack and wasn’t changing focus for anything. He had known it was going to be a rough night from the moment anxiety started to coil through his stomach, spoiling his appetite halfway through dinner, but it was starting to look like it might turn into more than he could handle.

 _What if Sorzie and Dean aren't looking for me? What if Castiel is lying? I caused so many problems. All I do is cause problems. They don’t want me. I'm never going to go home. It's always gonna be like this._ Liam swallowed hard, pressing down on his chest as the spasming muscles squeezed harder. _What if it really_ is _always going to be like this? What if this isn't anxiety, and I'm actually right? What if the angels never let me go back? What if they do, but nobody wants me?_

Liam shot up in bed and scooted back until he was leaning against the headboard, closing his eyes and mumbling under his breath.

“Six times one is six… six times two is twelve… six times three is eighteen… six times four is… twenty-four? Six times five is thirty… six times six is thirty-six… six times seven… um…”

Liam stopped and shook his head. He didn’t know his times tables well enough to find comfort in their familiarity. Once upon a time, he had recited his ABCs, but over time, he had the opposite problem of them being _too_ familiar. He could recite them while still barreling down a dark tunnel of panicked thoughts. Same with the easier times tables, like one, two, five, and ten.

“Fingers.”

Liam shifted in bed, trying to make himself more comfortable, and he held one of his hands out in front of himself. He took the index finger of his other hand and ran it up one side of his thumb, breathing in as he did so. He held both his breath and his finger at the top, and then he slid his finger back down the other side while breathing out. He breathed in as he slid one index finger up the other, stopping at the top again before breathing out as he traveled back down. Middle, ring, pinky, then ring again, middle, index, and thumb.

It didn’t work.

His heart was still racing, and it was still hard to breathe, and he still felt tears on his cheeks, and he still wanted to scream, and he was still so _scared,_ and yet so _angry_ , and he still wanted to crawl out of his skin, but he couldn’t.

Liam scrambled off the bed and ran for the closest thing he could break: an angel statue on a little table along the wall. He grabbed it and hurled it to the ground, feeling some of the pressure leave his body with the sound of breaking ceramic. But there was _more_ pressure still inside, building back up without giving him any reprieve, clenching his jaw and twisting his stomach.

Liam dropped to his knees and grabbed one of the pieces, rolling up the sleeve to Sam’s shirt and dragging the side of it along his arm.

Ceramic was perfect, because he didn’t want to cut himself—that would be scary and hurt a lot—but he wanted to scratch. There was something about the sting of scratching that made him feel like he was getting his feelings out. Like punching a wall and winding up with bloody knuckles, except he was too scared to do that, either. He couldn’t explain it, he just knew that every now and then, when that burning urge to scream and cry and break things got to be too much, scratching or biting his arms made him feel better.

So, he started rubbing it back and forth, not too fast, and not too hard, but enough that the skin got red and swollen and bled just a little.

“Liam! What are you doing?”

Liam’s head snapped up, panic coursing through him. He blinked away his tears until he could properly see Castiel marching toward him, panic escalating. “I…” He looked down at his arms just as Castiel arrived. “I—”

Castiel crouched down and grabbed Liam’s wrist, tearing the piece of statue from his hand and tossing it aside.

Liam flinched. Briefly, he wondered if Castiel had any idea how _big_ and terrifying he was. “I didn’t cut myself.” He pulled back, whimpering when his arm wouldn’t come loose. “I’m—I'm not bleeding. Not really.”

Castiel grabbed Liam beneath the arms and lifted him up. “That’s not the point.” Castiel wrapped his arms around Liam and carried him back to the bed. He set Liam on the mattress and crouched down, worry shining in his eyes.

Liam had never seen Castiel look worried before.

“Why did you do that, Liam?” Castiel questioned, his brow creased with confusion… and maybe concern.

“I don’t know.” Liam shrugged his shoulders and sniffed, tears racing down his cheeks. “I don’t know. I just felt so…” He waved his hands slightly, struggling to come up with the words to explain the sensation his panic attacks sometimes gave him. “It’s… I don’t…” He choked out a sob and rubbed his face, trying to clear away the tears. “It’s like there’s something inside me trying to get out, and sometimes it gets really bad, and it makes me feel better to break things and scratch my arms.” He sobbed again, screwing his eyes shut and dropping his head. “I've only done it two other times, I promise.”

Still, he knew he wasn’t supposed to.

But it _helped._ It helped when nothing else did, and it was only every once in a while.

“Please, don’t be mad. I’m sorry, Castiel. I won’t—” Liam hiccupped. “I won’t do it again, I swear!”

Castiel sighed—not exactly angry but definitely unhappy—and shook his head. “Liam, why didn’t you call for me? I would have relieved your symptoms.”

Liam only shrugged his shoulders again. “I didn’t want to bother you…” _You should have checked on me. You should have made sure I was okay!_ But that wasn’t fair, was it?

No, of course it wasn’t. Liam was just selfish and needy and useless. His mother was right. He was difficult, and he only thought about himself and what he needed, and everyone hated having to deal with him.

“I don’t understand.” Castiel squinted and shook his head slowly. “You have no problem fighting with me when it suits you. Do you think that _doesn’t_ bother me? Why do something so unnecessary and childish but not ask for help when you need it?”

Fresh tears sprang up in Liam’s eyes, his chest constricting as he was hit with the renewed urge to cry. “It’s different,” he whimpered, drawing his arms in close, trying to make himself smaller. Smaller targets were harder to hit.

Castiel cocked his head to the side. “How is it different?”

Liam squirmed in place, sniffing quietly. “Mom and Daddy used to fight all the time… but they still loved each other. Sorzie and Dean fight all the time, but they still love each other.” He dragged his arm over his eyes, sniffing again. “But nobody likes to be bothered by someone who’s needy and annoying. I’ve always been needy… bothering Mom with things, and… it’s just different.” He choked out another sob and rubbed his eyes again. “It’s just different, Castiel, it’s just—it just is.”

Castiel didn’t say anything for a moment, his lips moving slowly. “I… see.” He didn’t sound like he saw. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to worry about bothering me in such a way. I don’t mind taking care of you.” He ran his hands over the insides of Liam’s arms, drawing out the sting and healing the welted flesh in an instant. “Do you still feel that… something inside you, trying to get out?”

Liam nodded his head, squirming on the bed, feeling the steady thump of his heart inside his chest, not racing, just beating _hard._ He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something. Kick, claw, tear, burn, bite. _Something._ He wanted to be touched. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to sleep, he wanted to stay awake. He wanted to run. He wanted to hide.

Castiel reached out a hand and almost tapped two fingers to Liam’s head, but he slowed to a stop and redirected at the last second, placing his hand flat on Liam’s chest.

Liam looked down at the hand and put his own hands on top, sighing deeply as a cool sensation spread throughout his body. It tingled, traveling out from his heart through his veins, muscles unwinding until air came into his lungs with ease.

“How’s that?”

Liam sniffed and nodded again. “Better. Thanks.” He dragged his arm over his eyes, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry, Castiel. I tried my exercises, but they didn’t work. I’m… I’m really sorry.” He sniffed again.

“Yes, well…” Castiel cleared his throat and stood up, motioning for Liam to get under the comforter. “Call for me next time. Or Samandriel, if you prefer. Just… don’t hurt yourself again. I…” He wet his lips and then shook his head. “Just don’t hurt yourself again.”

Liam pulled his legs up onto the mattress and crawled toward the headboard, pushing the blankets aside. He got his legs underneath and then scooted down, settling in to sleep for the third time that night, hoping quick obedience could make up for all his difficult behavior.

“Castiel?” Liam chewed on his lip, peering up at the angel that so easily towered over him.

Castiel peered down at the boy so much smaller than himself and blinked. “Yes?”

“Would you stay with me?” Liam moved to the left a little and patted the bed beside him. “Just until I fall asleep? Please?”

Castiel pursed his lips thoughtfully, and after a moment of consideration, he laid down on the bed. “Only if you promise to genuinely _try_ to sleep. Not the humming, wiggling, staring, pointing, rolling, tossing, turning, _not_ sleeping thing you do.”

Liam smiled to himself and rolled onto his side, drawing in close and snuggling into the curve of Castiel’s body. “Okay. Promise.” He put his head down on Castiel’s chest and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, letting out a quiet sigh. “Thank you.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Castiel didn’t say anything else, and Liam was content to let that be the end of things. Talking usually led to fighting for the two of them, and Liam didn’t want to fight anymore. He was so tired of fighting. He just wanted to go home, and he knew he couldn’t have that, so he wanted the closest thing he could get.

Falling asleep on Castiel’s chest, wearing Dean’s necklace and wrapped in Sam’s shirt, was exactly that. Liam wasn’t happy, but he was closer to happy than he had been in a long time, and that counted for something.

* * *

> _When I try to think back, get it straight in my head… I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out… I’m wandering around, alone and lost, and I can’t do anything._

Sam tried to tear his eyes away from the journal. He really did. He was supposed to be looking for signs, so he could help Dean keep the seals from breaking, so the angels could get what they wanted, so he could get Liam back.

But Sam needed guidance, and there was really only one place he could go to for that. 

> _Sammy cries a lot, wanting his mom. I don’t know how to stop it, and part of me doesn’t want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won’t remember her at all. I can’t let her memory die._

Sam could relate to that, in a backward, roundabout kind of way. It had been five days since Sam talked to Castiel in the parking lot, and he hadn’t cried for two of those days. And it felt wrong. It felt like he should still be grieving, because Liam was still missing, and it still _hurt so much._ But his body couldn’t keep up, and the end result was him running out of tears and feeling like a terrible father for recovering so quickly.

Not that he was recovered. He wasn’t. And he knew that—he _knew_ that—but he felt like it should have showed more. He felt like it should have been obvious to everyone around him that he wasn’t okay. That his life had stopped and wouldn’t start again until he had Liam back in his arms.

> _She had a vision, and we found a bloody mess in the neighbor’s house along with the words ‘WE’RE COMING FOR THE CHILDREN’ written in blood. I don’t remember anything between that and finding Sam and Dean safe back at Julie’s, thank God, but Julie… Julie was dead. Something just tore her apart._

Sam ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock. He knew he was wasting time, but he looked back at the journal anyway. _What do I do, Dad?_ He grabbed the beer sitting next to his laptop and took a swig. _You knew something was coming for us, so you ran, but… how did you cope?_ Though, given what he knew about John... _I guess you didn’t._

That was what time showed, faintly as it passed and sharply in retrospect. Hunters didn’t get to have nice things. They just didn’t. It was impossible. Sam should have known better. There had never been any point in trying, no matter how close to the end of his hunting career Sam had _thought_ he was.

> _Sammy has finally started sleeping through the night, and now that Dean shares a bed with him, he’s out like a light, too. But me…_

Sam picked up his beer again, but it was empty. He thought about going for another, but that drink had been his second, and he wasn’t going down the path of alcoholism.

> _When I wake up, sweating and panting… I swear there is something there. I can feel it, hovering over me, hovering over my boys. It’s watching, it’s waiting, I think it’s even mocking me… You couldn’t stop this. You couldn’t keep her safe. You can’t keep them safe._

John _had_ kept them safe. But at what cost? And was Sam willing to pay it?

Could Sam do it differently? Or was history going to repeat itself?

Sam snapped the journal shut and set it aside, running his hands through his hair. He had to focus. He had to stop reading about feelings and start reading about how to get his job done.

_Does that make me sound like Dad? Is that what he did? Is that what changed him over time? I don’t want to change. I don’t want to be like that. But it’s not like I can go see a therapist about this, and I can’t sit around reading self-help books and…_

Sam lowered his head to the table and took a deep breath. _Stop._ He lifted his head and woke his computer up, putting his eyes back on the screen and trying to focus.

Sam was no more than ten words into the first paragraph when Dean opened the door and came in with a Styrofoam box.

“You find anything good?” Dean asked, kicking the door shut behind him.

Sam shook his head. “Nothing yet. I mean… don’t get me wrong, there are some supernatural cases, but I can’t find anything related to seals. Or at least, the seals we know about.” Because they really didn’t know all that much about the seals—what they were, how to detect them, how to guard them—and research could only get them so far.

Dean cursed under his breath and tossed his keys on the table. “Why can’t they just tell us what to take care of? I thought they liked telling people what to do.”

“I don’t know.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, looking at the screen but having a distinct feeling that nothing he did would be able to make his mind process what he was reading. “Maybe, uh… maybe you can ask Castiel for a tip?”

It was a gamble even bringing Castiel up. Dean hadn’t mentioned the angel since his drunken meltdown almost a week earlier, and the few times Sam had made Heaven the topic of their conversation, Dean had not reacted well.

“I’m not asking scumbag for anything.” Dean spat out the words venomously. “For all we know, he’ll tell us how to break the seals instead of save them.”

Sam wet his lips and ducked his head. It would be both unwise and unkind to push Dean when he was still so raw.

“Here.” Dean carried the Styrofoam box over and dropped it on the table, sliding it closer to Sam and taking the empty beer bottle away. “You need to eat something.”

Sam looked at the box for a long moment before reluctantly nodding his head and popping it open. He smiled to himself at the sight of pancakes with strawberries and strawberry-flavored syrup. “Thanks, Dean.”

“Yuh-huh.” Dean pulled a newspaper out of his back pocket. “Found this little tidbit. Some old guy was killed in his house in a locked room. Seems like our kind of deal.” He shrugged, tossing the newspaper onto the table beside Sam’s laptop. “I dunno if it’s a seal kind of deal, but it’s close by, and I’m getting sick of sitting around. I need to do something.” By which he meant, he needed to kill something.

Sam wet his lips and looked at the front page, skimming the details. _It’s definitely weird, but how does this help us get Liam?_ But Dean was clearly going stir crazy, and it wasn’t as if Sam could give Dean a directive. Sam didn’t even know what to tell himself to do.

Dean walked over to the motel window and looked out, scowling at the sunshine. “So… you make a decision yet?”

Sam blinked, stopping with a forkful of pancake halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“I’m not an idiot, Sam.” Dean snorted. “We’re up against Heaven and Hell, we have no clear way to get Liam back, and you’ve got demonic superpowers. It makes sense you’d think about using them.” He sighed, not turning away from the window. “I just want to know if you’ve decided whether or not to start chugging V8 again.”

“V8?” Sam questioned, brow arching sharply.

Dean only shrugged. “V8, demon juice, it’s the same thing.”

“V8 is delicious,” Sam argued. “And it’s good for you.”

“Satan made V8.” Dean turned away from the window with a sigh, leaning back against the blinds and crossing his arms over his chest. “Besides, it was either that, or Power _aid_ , and you can’t hear the spelling change that makes it funny.”

Sam chuckled softly and took a large bite of his breakfast. “Fine,” he said around the pancakes. He chewed for a few moments, swallowed, and then shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t decided what to do with the whole… blood thing.”

Dean pursed his lips, staring down at the floor in thought. “Do you think it’s a good idea to even try? They already threatened to kill you if you didn’t stop. You think they would kill Liam?”

Sam shook his head helplessly, his appetite quickly vanishing. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Dean, but… it’s not like we can trust what they’ve told us. Castiel wouldn’t say when Liam was going to be returned, and that’s assuming he was telling the truth about Liam being returned at all. Honestly, Liam could… I mean, until he writes back… for all we know, he could…” He put his fork down and ran a hand through his hair, moving the hand back to his face to rub his eyes. “He could already be dead.”

“You’ve gotta eat something, man.” Dean completely changed the subject, refused to even acknowledge the idea of Liam being dead. “You’ve lost, like, ten pounds in the last week.”

Sam heaved a sigh and grabbed his fork again, forcing another forkful of pancake into his mouth. “I know.” He chewed slowly and somehow managed to swallow. “You should look into that locked-room murder. Maybe if the angels see you getting antsy, they’ll give you something to do to keep you from… whatever it is they want to keep us from doing.”

Dean snorted and walked over to the table, grabbing his keys. “This is a friggin' mess,” he grumbled, already halfway out the door. “I’ll call you if I get anything.”

“Ditto.” Sam sighed, forcing in another mouthful of food if only because it would make Dean feel better. He chewed for a few moments, and then forced another swallow, grabbing his phone from beside his computer.

 **_New Message_ ** _Is it too late to ask you to be my teacher again?_

Sam drummed his fingers on the tabletop and then grabbed his fork again, shoving in yet another mouthful of food while he waited. Maybe it should have sent up a red flag when Ruby replied immediately, but all he felt was a rush of relief.

 **_Ruby_ ** _I thought youd never ask._

Sam wished he could have said he hesitated.

 **_Reply_ ** _When do we start?_

* * *

_“Samandriel? Can you come here, please? I need you.”_

Castiel responded to the call instead, landing in the greenroom with an immediate explanation. “Samandriel is on a mission. What do you need?”

Liam was sitting in bed, knees pulled up toward his chest and blanket bunched around him. He shrank in on himself, blue eyes somewhat watery, cheeks dusted a faint shade of red. “I’ll wait for Samandriel.”

Castiel’s brow crinkled. “You and I have been getting along lately. Why won't you cooperate now?”

“Sorry…” Liam squirmed, pulling the blanket up a little higher. “I just… don’t want to tell you.”

“Liam.” Castiel wet his lips and maintained the careful lid he had kept on his temper for the past few days. “If you still don’t like me all that much, that’s fine—” because Castiel wasn’t really sure how he felt about Liam, either, “—but I truly do want to help.”

Liam looked up at Castiel for a second and then dropped his gaze back down, the color in his cheeks getting a little darker. “You’ll be mad,” he whispered.

Castiel arched a brow and drawled out a less-than-enthused reply. “That’s never stopped you before.” Quite the opposite, Liam seemed to greatly enjoy driving Castiel to the brink of insanity. It was like some sort of game, trying to see how far Castiel could be pushed before Liam would have to back off or face consequences.

“Not that kinda mad.” Liam hugged himself and shook his head. “Real mad. Don’t-want-me-around mad.”

Castiel felt his fingers twitch, like his vessel was trying to do something to express his exasperation, but he had no idea what it was. _That’s one thing to be thankful for, I suppose._ He might have been in a more sensitive vessel, but he was still far from human.

Hopefully, that meant no more meltdowns in the forest.

Castiel let out a soft sigh. “Liam, just tell me what the problem is.”

Liam ducked his head and mumbled something that would have been indecipherable to human ears, but Castiel heard it clearly.

“I had an accident.”

Castiel was confused, to say the least. “Everything in this room automatically repairs itself.” Which Liam already knew, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t broken everything at least once. “Whatever you broke, it’s fine.”

Liam shook his head rapidly, fisting the comforter. “No, I—I had an _accident._ ”

Castiel quirked a brow and took a few steps, looking around for any sign of damage. “Liam, I don’t under—” He crinkled his nose, catching a faint whiff of urine. It wasn’t difficult—he could smell a bladder infection from several feet away, after all—but it was odd. “Well, I certainly _hope_ you didn’t urinate on the bed intentionally.”

“I didn’t! I promise I didn’t!” Liam choked back a sob and ducked his head, a little whine rising in his throat. “M’sorry, Castiel…”

“Its fine.” Castiel reached out to touch Liam’s head, but Liam flinched back. Castiel left his hand hovering midair. “I’m trying to clean you up.”

Liam scooted back some more, another little cry forming in his throat. “No, please! Don’t take my clothes.” He screwed his eyes shut, gripping his blanket with one hand and his shirt with the other. “Don’t take my clothes. I’ll clean it up. I’m sorry.”

Castiel frowned but closed the distance, lightly pressing his fingers to Liam’s forehead and cleaning the mess with a fraction of a thought. “There. Done. No need for clothing removal, no need to fuss.”

Castiel examined Liam’s face, taking in the sharp lines of fear and reddish hue of shame. He was still scrutinizing when those fragile, sky blue eyes opened up again.

Liam stared, cautious hope flickering through his eyes. “Castiel?”

Castiel was confused, but he kept his stare impassive. “Yes?”

Liam blinked a few times and sniffed. “You’re not… mad at me?”

Castiel’s expression slipped into a concerned curiosity. “As you said, it was an accident. You may be a little too old to justify the presence of a bladder control problem, but it isn’t as if you’re intentionally causing trouble.” He frowned, tilting his head to the side again. “Have people gotten angry with you for this in the past?”

Liam drew his knees up to his chin and nodded, lips together, eyes never leaving Castiel’s face. “Yeah.” He seemed almost… fascinated by Castiel’s lack of anger.

“Oh.” Castiel frowned slightly. “Punished?”

Liam nodded again, pressing his lips to his knees and continuing to stare.

“Oh.” Castiel nodded slowly, still frowning. Maybe it was another one of those human things he had yet to understand. It was apparent _much_ had changed about the way children were reared since he was last on Earth.

Still, it seemed… wrong.

“So… are you gonna… are you gonna punish me?” Liam had searching eyes, genuinely questioning Castiel with a flickering fear of what the response might be. “Hit me? Or… or something?”

Castiel felt an uncomfortable sensation worming through his stomach. “No, Liam. That would be highly uncalled for.”

Liam nodded slightly, still watching Castiel with careful eyes. He opened his mouth, stopped, and then started again. “Castiel?”

Castiel inclined his head toward the pull on his Grace, hearing a distant call from Uriel. “Yes?” he asked, staying in the greenroom despite the summons.

Liam looked up at Castiel with eyes far too weary for his age. “When can I go home?”

Castiel’s brow creased with sympathy, but he couldn’t afford much in the way of sentiment. “I don’t know, Liam. But I am hopeful it will be soon.” He paused briefly, thinking back to his conversation with Sam several nights earlier. “Liam, you… know this isn’t your fault, right?”

Liam blinked at Castiel in confusion. He sniffed, clearing his nose of the drainage left over from his tears, and he seemed lost for words for a few moments. “Then… why is it happening to me?”

For the first time in a long time, Castiel didn’t feel guilt or confusion or any kind of anger regarding the young human the Winchesters had taken such a liking to. Only sadness. Castiel felt a weight coming down on his shoulders, a kind of profound grief beating on his vessel like angry waves on a shoreline.

“Liam… we don’t always cause the things that happen to us.” Castiel lowered his voice and softened it slightly. “Sometimes bad things happen simply because the world is a bad place… or because other people have chosen to make bad decisions… or because a Higher Power is at work.”

Liam wiped his cheeks and scrunched his face up for moment, his expression twisting and shifting as he fought to comprehend. “I think I understand.”

But Castiel could sense that he didn’t; he just wanted to avoid Castiel's ire. “Liam…”

Liam looked up with a combination of fear and frustration on his face. He didn’t understand what Castiel was saying any more than Castiel understood Liam's behavior, but he was afraid of questioning; afraid of being that different breed of bothersome he had talked about.

Castiel shoved aside Uriel’s call yet again, sending out a busy signal of sorts as he knelt down beside the bed. “I am going to tell you a story, and I want you to listen carefully.”

Liam scooted a little closer to the edge of the bed and crisscrossed his legs, looking at Castiel and waiting.

“It’s a story about a man named Job.” Castiel wet his lips, trying to think of a way to tell the tale so a child could understand, and then he continued. “Job was a righteous man—a good man—and he had many good things in his life. But Satan, a fallen angel, questioned Job’s faithfulness. He said Job was only faithful to God because God had given him so many good things.”

Liam tilted his head, looking perplexed, but he didn’t get that vacant look in his eyes that humans usually got when they stopped paying attention. He was, at the very least, trying to understand.

“God gave Satan permission to take all the good things away. He gave Satan permission to hurt Job in a lot of ways… and Job suffered very much.” Castiel paused, resting his hands in his lap. “Job had three friends, and they said Job must have done something to deserve his suffering.”

Liam’s lips twisted up, like he didn’t like the sound of what was being said, which made Castiel smile a little. It reminded him of Dean, in a way; no grace for himself but endless grace for others.

“Someone else spoke up after them. His name was Elihu.” Castiel tilted his head slightly, maintaining eye contact. “He was young, and because of that, he was afraid to speak. ‘But it is the spirit in a man, the breath of the Almighty, that makes him understand. It is not the old who are wise, nor the aged who understand what is right.’ He rebuked… ah, yelled at the three friends, and he speculated a little, and then… God spoke.”

Liam scooted a little closer, leaning forward and putting his chin in his hands. “What did God say?”

“God said, ‘Where were you when I laid the foundation of the Earth?’” Castiel gave the question a moment to sink in, watching Liam’s features for the moment the words were processed. “You see, God wanted Job to realize that Job was not God. Sometimes, God does things, and we don’t get to know why.” Castiel wet his lips, reaching out and touching Liam’s jawline to fully draw his attention. “God never told Job why the bad things happened, but God _did_ tell him it wasn’t his fault. God then made the three friends offer sacrifices to atone for what they had said. It made God angry when they said Job was at fault.”

Liam’s face scrunched up, and he still seemed unhappy with the story. “But why did God let the bad things happen in the first place?”

Castiel shook his head. “That isn’t the point of the story, Liam.” He smiled softly. “Elihu was right when he said spiritual understanding is what makes one wise. It doesn’t matter that you’re young. I’ve given you spiritual understanding.”

Liam blinked, and he was clearly confused. “I don’t understand the spiritual understanding.” He bit his lip, a fearful glimmer lighting his eyes. “I… can you tell me… the point of the story? I promise I listened, but I—”

“Shh, I know. I know you did.” Castiel lowered his hands to the mattress, resting his arms on either side of Liam. “Liam, the point of the story is… you don’t always get to find out why the bad things happen, but that doesn’t make it your fault. Sometimes, you have to take a deep breath and understand… that you aren’t going to understand, and that’s okay. You don’t have to know the answers. Focus on what you know, and have faith that the rest will turn out alright.”

Liam wet his lips and looked down at his lap. “Focus on what I know…”

Castiel nodded his head. “For example, you know Sam and Dean love you very much.”

Liam nodded his head. “Yeah. Yeah, they do.”

Castiel gestured over his shoulder to the bare wall where the door once was. “You know Samandriel and I are just one shout away. You know I’m here to keep you safe, even if you don’t like how I’m doing it.”

Liam nodded again, sniffing. “Yeah… I know that…”

Castiel moved his hand to Liam’s shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. “Focus on that, and have faith. It doesn’t matter how you got here, or why, it only matters that you are not alone here, and you _will_ go home. You will, Liam. I swear on my Grace.” He offered the faintest of smiles and nudged Liam’s cheek. “And don’t let anyone, even yourself, tell you this is your fault. Or I shall make you slaughter and burn seven bulls and seven rams to atone for your words.”

“What?” Liam looked at Castiel in confusion, but he quickly realized it was a joke and laughed. “That’s so weird!”

Castiel conceded with a small smile. “It’s a bit outdated, yes.”

Liam laughed a little more, and then his eyes grew curious once more. “Castiel? Did Job have faith after God talked to him?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, he did.”

Liam pursed his lips. “What happened?”

Castiel offered another small smile. “God restored all that Job had lost, and it was better and more plentiful than it had ever been before.”

Liam nodded his head and looked down at his lap thoughtfully. “I understand the story, but…” He shook his head and looked back up at Castiel. “There has to be a reason for this. Why would I be here if I didn’t do something wrong?”

“That’s the faith part, Liam.” He gave Liam’s shoulder another squeeze. “I need you to trust me when I say the reason is not for you to know but _also_ not your fault.” Castiel heard Uriel calling for him again, the signal getting brighter and louder, and he let out a soft sigh. “I have to go, Liam. It’s urgent. Samandriel will be around to check on you tonight.” Castiel smiled lightly. “Be good for me, Liam.”

Liam considered him a moment, and then he nodded.

Castiel disappeared, his vessel overcome with a desire to know more. Something about Liam’s way of thinking was unsettling, contradictory to the abrasive attitude he displayed, and just… just not right. Not… _something._

And Castiel was going to find out what.

* * *

Dean stared down at the blank paper in front of him, eyes glassy with something other than alcohol for the first time in days. He held a pen in his hands, holding it at each end and idly rolling it between his fingertips. He took a deep breath and switched to a one-handed hold, pressing the tip of the pen to the page.

> _Hey Lee,_

…and he stared. He stared, and he wondered, and he racked his brain… and then he stared some more. He didn’t know what to write. He didn’t know what to say.

_Sorry you’ve been kidnapped by the angel that hauled me out of Hell? Sorry our life dragged you into this horrible mess you never asked for? Sorry that everything sucks and it’s all my fault?_

Dean glanced to the right and saw Sam’s letter, already in a sealed envelope, waiting for Castiel to pick it up in the middle of the night while they slept. Sam had written Liam every single day since Castiel agreed to carry the letters.

Dean hadn’t written once.

> _So… life kinda sucks right now, I guess. Things are kinda sucky here, too, so you’re not missing much. Sam and I miss you._
> 
> _We miss you like crazy, little guy._
> 
> _Did the Halo Patrol give you a TV? If not, you should ask for one. I could suggest some shows and movies… I’ll even make them semi-educational, so it’ll count as schooling. Except Scooby-Doo. Scooby-Doo is always okay to watch, educational or not._

Dean heaved a sigh and wiped his eyes, refusing to even silently acknowledge the moisture on his fingers.

> _I miss teaching you things. I miss spending time with you. And I’m not saying that to make you sad, okay? I just wanted to remind you… Sammy and I aren’t looking for you because we feel like we have to… we’re looking for you because we want you to be here with us again. We like spending time with you. We like having you in our family._
> 
> _We love you._

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the letter for a few moments, heaving a sigh. He wiped his face again and shook his head, trying to finish the sorry excuse for a letter with an explanation as to why it was such a sorry excuse for a letter.

> _I’m not good at stuff like this, Lee. I don’t use words to tell people things. You know, I do stuff. So… even though I’m not writing as much as Sam… and even though my letters aren’t as nice as Sam’s… just know that I’m down here doing everything I can to find you. I’m even reading books, Lee!_

Dean allowed a smile to pull at the corner of his mouth, and he hoped the line would make Liam smile a little, too.

> _You hang in there, kid. You’ll be back home before you know it._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Dean_

Dean folded up the letter and stuck it in an envelope, scrawling Liam’s name over the front and setting it next to Sam’s on the tiny motel table. He looked at the two notes for a moment, and then he heaved a sigh, grabbing a new piece of paper and writing a new note.

 

_Going to the library to research. Call me when you wake up._

_-Dean_

 

Dean grabbed his jacket and threw it over one shoulder, snatching his car keys from the table and leaving the motel room behind. How could he sleep when he just got done telling Liam about all he was doing to bring the kid home? He couldn’t.

Besides, who needed sleep?

Not Dean Winchester, that’s for sure.

* * *

Hours later, Castiel carried the letters into Liam’s room. He underlined three words on the letter from Dean, let Liam read it, and then gave Liam a meaningful look as he took the paper back and slipped it into his pocket. Liam nodded understandingly.

_“…Sammy and I aren’t looking for you because…”_

_“…we’re looking for you because we…”_

_“…down here doing everything I can…”_

Neither Liam nor Castiel said anything about the use of present-tense words, and then it was sealed away in Castiel’s pocket. No one else needed to know what Dean wrote on that paper.

It would be their little secret.

**Author's Note:**

> I think the other fic I'm working on, a Theologically Accurate AU of Supernatural Season 4 on forward, slipped into this story. I just love Castiel telling Bible stories. Just... give me Castiel and Bible stories. I need them for sustenance.


End file.
